Louis Donovan (strikethose) wrote in rooms, @ 2015-02-27 21:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | *narrative, louis donovan |
[narrative: louis d]
Who: Louis Donovan (short narrative)
What: Going back to Shadowcrest.
Where: Primarily the basement at Shadowcrest.
When: After Micah's death.
Warnings/Rating: None.
Louis saw nothing on the walk back to the door. Nothing. The medal around his neck was warm against his chest. There was blood on his shoes, and Micah was dead.
Dead. The walk was a nothingness. Nothing felt more real than the gnawing hunger in his stomach for death, unabated after seeing someone die in front of him because the death hadn't been executed correctly, and now the sigils the witch had laid down dragged him back there like a leash.
He felt pulled in all directions. A pawn of an undying thing, bound carefully by a magician. How could that feel more real than Micah being dead? How could the death of someone who had menaced them so much feel like nothing?
In the basement of Shadowcrest, he looked at the tunnel he had burrowed through the stone. He had hated so much that rock melted in his path to strike Micah down. But the cold weight of a gun in his hand had seemed wrong, even after the prayers and the tears of blood, the pit of corpses he had dug. A coward. He was a coward.
He sat on the floor, near to the wall as he could be, and folded himself up. He searched for relief, and he found none. He only thought of Joey, his heart cut out and left in a box, and a corpse with the face of his sister in a sunless field. He felt the gnawing hunger in his chest, cold emptiness that gurgled for more blood to fill it with, and tipped his head into his knees.
Nothing was different.